


Oedipus

by JuniperLemon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Hunters, M/M, Werewolf, Wincest - Freeform, raised separately, unintentional wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuniperLemon/pseuds/JuniperLemon
Summary: John dumps baby Sam when a prophecy foretells of Sam murdering John and getting with Dean. 26 years later and John really should have seen it coming.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A slight spin on the Oedipus Rex story.

"The prophecy foretells of a father, King of his family, being murdered by his second born. The future of your first born lies as companion to your executioner." The oracle spread her hands wide, eyes vacantly wondering the sky. 

Twigs hung from her off-white hair and her long dress looked similarly disheveled. The oracle was lying in the dirt under a large tree after the chase through the forest had resulted in her collapsing. She shook. Her once blue eyes were cloudy white with cataracts. They also effectively blinded her meaning she wasn't hard to hunt down or follow through the trees. 

John Winchester held his gun steady and aimed directly for her head. Prophecy or die.

"What else?" He barked, stepping closer.

She squealed at his sudden bark and backed further into the base of the tree, "Nothing more." 

He scowled at the woman, feeble and afraid. His finger hit the trigger. Her body jerked back as the bullet hit its mark. 

\----

26 years later- 

The ground was like marsh due to the torrential rain that'd passed over the state in the last few days. John's boots were getting sucked into the terrain and he grumbled as he fought ahead toward the shack. He could see the dim light beckoning him from behind the cracked window. The water had soaked through every layer of his clothes. It had caused shivers to rack through his body. 

He wrenched the door open and it squeaked stiffly. 

Dean peered up from where he was hunched over a small fire. The shack was only one room and an outhouse. Probably originally intended for hunting or local tradesmen passing through. However, it was essentially empty now after decades of disuse and abandonment had taken it's toll. The remaining windows rattled in their frames. 

He dumped the bag of food beside his son then John collapsed down beside the fire and began peeling off his jacket and shirt. He laid them out behind the fire to dry for morning. He slipped his blanket around his shoulders and slipped closer to the fire until his toes almost couldn't stand the heat. 

The old hunter pulled the gun from his waistband and allowed his fingers to wander it with almost sacred worship. He gazed into the burning orange as he did so; his mind dealing with thoughts that spiralled around his brain. He didn't notice Dean had asked him a question until his son had asked it more forcefully.

"Dad, what happened to your arm?" 

Looking down he noticed the cut was still bleeding. It stung like hell so he gritted his teeth against it whilst dabbing at it with the edge of his blanket. 

"Caught it on one of the branches out there. Can't see shit in this storm." He grunted.

"I'll stitch it up for you." Dean muttered passively. He rose, with the damp blanket still hanging around his shoulders, and began rooting through his duffle bag for the medical kit. He extracted it and shuffled beside his father. "This looks pretty deep, dad. Should we go to the emergency room?" He looked up at his father's face for direction.

"No, it's fine. Just wash it out and sew it up." He commanded, gulping down some fresh whisky: the best pain medication he had at the moment.

Dean rinsed out the gash with the whisky that he had to rip from his father's fingers. He then proceeded to create neat stitches to close up the wound. He blocked out the sounds of pain his dad hissed from between his teeth and instead allowed himself to focus on his own thoughts. 

When the fuck would they be getting out of this hell hole.

Eventually Dean had finished the stitches and John had finished the bottle. As the younger hunter wrapped the supplied back into his bag he heard his father throw the glass across the room. Luckily it landed without smashing.

"What would I do without you, Dean?" He grumbled while lying down and trying to get comfortable beside the fire.

"Well, you did tell me that the only reason you had a kid was so they'd take care of you." Dean couldn't deny that it had stung when his father had drunkenly admitted that, "And that's the exact reason you only had one... If I remember rightly, you said if you had two then you put in more effort then you eventually get back." Dean had always longed for a brother. It felt as though there was a space in his life where a sibling would slide in perfectly.

"The second child is always the one that fucks you over." John slurred, the alcohol, cold and pain made him drowsy, "Get rid of them when they're young. Lucky for us your brother died."

"What?" Dean whipped around. His eyebrows were approaching his hairline. Sometimes, his father said things that either made him slightly dislike the man or grown suspicious about his past.

John didn't reply as his eyes were shut and he seemed intent on drifting off to sleep.

His son sighed and shuffled down beside the warming fire. Despite his frustration and the rattling glass, he actually slipped into unconsciousness pretty quickly due to the bone deep exhaustion that plagued him. However, he was determined to talk about his dad's comment tomorrow.

\---  
One month later-

Dean never thought he'd be glad they'd camped so deep in a forest but this had completed altered his opinion. His father was changing into a werewolf and if John was going to claim he wasn't aware then Dean would have to call bullshit. You don't get injured by a werewolf and just not realise it. It dawned on him that John knew tonight was full moon and that's why they'd spent the better part of 8 hours slowly slogging through the thick forest. 

He could hear his dad somewhere around him, crying out against the pain of the transformation. Dean forced away a stray tear, he was a man for Christ's sakes. 

Through the dark there was the distinct sound of twigs and leaves being crushed under foot. The steps got closer and they increased in speed. The younger hunter didn't know whether to be scared or defensive. 

Dean turned and began to sprint back towards where they'd set up camp in a clearing. Beside the fire was surely a safer place then out here in the dark. He stumbled and struggled with his footing. Panic and claustrophobia closing around his chest. His own father was hunting him.

The werewolf was close, he could hear it's harsh unsteady breathing. It grunted like a wild bore. 

Then it was on him. Dean, using all his strength, held the beast of him as its wild jaws thrashed down in an attempt to capture his flesh. It's claws swung back and forth. Dean pushed himself back into the dirt as far as he could. He was going to die at the jaws of his werewolf father.

Why hadn't he been better prepared? Why had he blindly run after his dad unarmed?

He struggled, his arms getting weaker by every second. The large werewolf only becoming more and more determined. Saliva dripped from its gaping mouth, dropping onto Dean's face and torso. It was practically rabid. 

How had his father gone on like this? Hadn't he realised how dangerous it was?

The beast was getting closer. Dean was about to give up and let his father rip him to shreds when a shot rang out. It silenced the forest. The werewolf became a dead weight on his arms so the young hunter pushed him off. 

Panicked, his verdant eyes rapidly scanned the area around him for his saviour. The tall stranger's shadow blended into the towering pine trees preventing Dean from making him out. The hunter squinted against the darkness but the lines of the stranger's silhouette didn't become more definite. 

Dean's gaze shot down to the werewolf. He shifted away to try and put some distance between them. That beast had been at his throat mere seconds ago.

"Silver bullet." The voice commanded over the quiet area, "It won't be coming back." 

A branch snapped as the stranger began moving away from Dean and the dead creature. He was near silent as he strode through the trees. Dean scrambled to his feet and grabbed everything he needed before he shot off after his saviour. He stumbled a couple times as he raced to catch up.

"How did you find me?" Dean rambled out, he peered up at the tall man. Only now he could make out his face, "How did you find us?"

The stranger was a hunter, that much was clear enough, but he had intelligent hazel eyes that shone against the slight light of the full moon. His long hair curled up at the tip where it tickled against his strong jawline. He walks faster than Dean due to his longer legs but the Winchester managed to keep up. 

"I was in the area... Coincidence really." The man muttered as though this conversation was a pain in his ass. He waved it off.

"There's no such thing as coincidence." Dean snapped back in the hopes of making the man reveal what he'd been doing. Hunting? Maybe a ghost or spirit?

The tall man cocked an eyebrow and huffed a half laugh half sigh, "Fine. The Lord himself planned it. Whatever you want." 

Dean noticed when the other hunter began taking longer strides to try and give the hint he wanted to be alone and get out the area. Dean ignored it. 

"Where are you going now?" He pressed.

Dean wasn't sure if he saw the man roll his eyes or if he'd imagined it as the guy spoke, "Away from here." He glanced down at Dean, "You should know how it works. Sort the problem and get the hell outta town." 

There was silence as they fought their way out of the wood. The hazel-eyed guy kept shifting his duffle over his shoulder and glancing at his watch. What would Dean do now? Wait for dad to- His dad was dead.

"You shot my dad." Dean stated, stopping suddenly and staring into the horizon, "You shot my dad." Numbness was spreading through his body like a potent drug. 

"Yeah... I was wondering when you were going to get to that... Sorry, it was him or you... Or neither and then eventually both of you when you also turn..." The man stumbled to explain, guilt flooding his mind. He tried to gain a reassuring look upon his face but knew he hadn't quite perfected the art of comforting another human. That's what happens when you're raised by a single hunter in the middle of nowhere. 

The tall hunter seemed anxious to get moving again but refused to push the grieving man into movement. He sighed, his sharp eyes searching between the trees until Dean seemed able so he began striding back to civilisation.

As a hunter, dean knew that the best coping mechanism was to just push it to the back of your mind until you come across a nasty then beat the shit out of it to burn out all the grief. He'd managed it before along with almost every other hunter on the planet. Despite this, his soul still felt hollow like a deep frost was slowly edging its way out one cell at a time. The Winchester sniffed and followed the tall stranger. 

"I'm Dean, by the way." He offered, eyes glued to the imprints the man's boots were making in the foliage. Each step crushed down the plants.

Mr Long-haired dude peeped over his shoulder almost as though to check whether the smaller male was having a breakdown. He turned his head to watch the path he was blazing, "I... I'm Sam, I guess." 

"I had a brother called Sam once, dad said he died really young." At the mention of his father the hunter glanced back, partly out of longing to grieve for his father and partly to ensure no werewolf was darting toward them. 

Sam grunted noncommittally. To him, the sooner he palmed off this unstable being the better. Sam was better on his own as he worked more efficiently and quicker; no having no consider another person or care for an injured partner. The only person he had to watch out for was himself. 

Dean could already tell this man was one of the strong but silent types. Many hunter seemed to adopt this approach as it was usually trauma that dragged them into the job anyway. His long legs strode forward, no turning back.

Dean stumbled over branches as he tried to keep up. He wasn't in the state to be left to fend for himself. 

\---  
Condensation was beginning to dribble down the deep green of the beer bottle as Sam's large fingers ghosted over the surface. He'd barely sipped at his while Dean already had 5 sloshing around in his stomach. Paper was getting stuck under his thumb nail where he'd been pealing off the label as Dean rambled on and on about every topic under the sun. His fear to be left alone was radiating from him violently and Sam wasn't cold hearted enough to just dump him in this bar and get out of town. 

"You're pretty." Dean slurred, leaning forward with a clumsy arm reaching out toward Sam's face. The younger hunter jumped back, wishing he'd actually been listening so he could have nipped this in the bud before it developed into whatever this was. He would be the first to admit the man was attractive but he was drunk and dealing with the death of his father. He wasn't a complete asshole by adding a weird attraction into the mix.

"You don't mean that, Dean." He gently pushed the man's arm back into his body, "You're drunk." 

"I know what I'm doing! I've been with guys before!" He shouted, causing some locals to glance over at them suspiciously. 

"I have no doubt you've been with men but you won't want to be with me when you sober up." Sam paid for their drinks and looped his arm around Dean to support him as they left the bar.

Dean stumbled and would already be on the floor if it wasn't for Sam holding him up, "Why?" 

"Because I shot your father. I'm not stupid you're gonna be angry when you get time to think about it then you're gonna try and kill me." 

\---  
6 months later-

"I can feel you staring at my ass." Sam chuckled while bending over his laptop to do a quick search about the case. "Quit it." 

Dean laughed whilst pulling the blanket up over his chest. The bed had begun to cool with his partner off doing spur of the moment research that had Dean rolling his eyes, "You love me looking at your ass. That's why you walked over there without putting your pants on." He smirked.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, "Jerk." 

Dean chuckled again, stretching him arms up and folding them behind his head, "Bitch."


End file.
